Dragon Tamer
by charlotteschaos
Summary: Harry always maintained that after his death, Draco should go on. But how do you get over Harry Potter? Charlie & Draco
1. Chapter 1

Draco didn't know what to do with himself after the war. Who would? After five years of building his life around Harry Potter, the death of his lover had all but taken the Malfoy heir down too. Left with a sizeable fortune amassed between what Harry had left and what he inherited from his family, he could do anything he wanted. Anything in the world, but all he wanted was to die. 

When Draco said that a part of him died when Harry did, he wasn't only being melodramatic. The two boys, while still at Hogwarts, had bound themselves to one another magically. The bond was manifested physically upon Draco's lower abdomen where a proud sentient stag sought to protect him. It carried the characteristics that Draco treasured about Harry, a proud nobility, the drive to protect and even a quiet shyness. What he loved best was to sit and trace his finger over his belly as the stag chased after it, prodding at him faintly with dark, illustrated antlers.

Draco had put the best parts of himself into the binding that manifested itself on Harry in the form of a dragon. All of his love, his passion, and his need had been totally invested into the mark. Tragically, five years later, Harry was murdered. No, not murdered exactly. He was caught up in the backlash of his own spell that felled Voldemort. There had been so much of a to-do about what would happen to Harry once the connection with the Dark Lord had been severed, no one really spoke the awful truth that Harry might die along with him. No one but Harry.

When Harry was stilled, Draco's mark on him expired as well. While Snape had never been able to find a precedent for it happening, Draco insisted that his capacity to love, or care about anything had shrugged off this mortal coil along with Harry.

Still, Draco had never been a particularly brave boy and he grew up to be only slightly less sheltered and afraid than he was at Hogwarts. While there were nights when he thought there would be nothing better than to end himself, he simply didn't have that manner of will. Even if he had, such thoughts caused his belly to sting from Harry's mark stabbing the sharp points of his bony antlers into him.

Harry had always told Draco to move on if he died. The brunet idealistically thought that Draco would get over it. That he could. Draco had dismissed such discussions of Harry's possible demise as being ridiculous. If Harry died, then it would have meant that Voldemort had won, and a blood traitor such as himself would certainly not have been far behind.

Some might've said that life was funny. Draco maintained that life sucked. In spite of what he wanted, life did go on and he had elected to train as an Auror. It wasn't what he wanted. It was what Harry wanted. It was the job Harry was doing when he died.

Being a coward at heart didn't seem to be as big an issue as Draco had thought it would be when it came to being an Auror. There were plenty of brave Aurors, what they didn't have were good planners and investigators. In that capacity, Draco's cold analytical nature was invaluable.

He didn't have many friends at the Ministry. Tonks had tried to saddle him with the nickname "The Iceman" which he summarily killed with a stony glare. He didn't care much for Tonks. On occasion he'd go to a pub with Shacklebolt, who was at least fairly quiet, but none of the other Aurors were gay, nor were they interested in learning more about it. Other than Tonks, of course, which was just another thing that irritated Draco about her. No one liked an overly enthusiastic fag hag.

In spite of her off-putting behavior, she did know of a few Wizarding gay clubs that he could check out, and some Muggle clubs that were rather close to the magical world. Draco found quickly the advantages of his pull and run tactics when practiced in the Muggle world. He was untraceable as soon as he stepped back into the Wizarding world. So it went that three or four nights a week, Draco would go out, find someone suitable for the night, or perhaps a few nights, and then he'd disappear.

Muggles couldn't see magical marks, and so no one noticed Harry. Not that they would have. Usually Harry hid at the base of Draco's prick during these encounters, nestled in amongst the forest of dark blond curls, back to the activity. As much as anyone reached out to Draco, he always recoiled, usually in such a virulently caustic way. If it was one that Malfoy was always good at, it was driving people away. Only Harry had been strong enough to ignore it. Only Harry was strong enough to truly make him shut up. Only Harry had ever reached him

* * *

Draco was closing in on nearly a decade under the employ of the Ministry. The first few years had been exciting and somewhat satisfying. Running down all of the Death Eaters, getting to brutalize them with impunity when he caught them. He was on his own private mission to make those who took his Harry ache the way he ached. Even if it were for just a few hours before they were sent away and eventually Kissed. 

Ironically, because of the treachery of the Dementors before the war began, Azkaban was a much more humane place. Most of the Dementors had been slaughtered along with the giants in a battle in the mountain stronghold where the last of the huge creatures were holed up. A few Dementors still remained, however, to administer the Kiss when appropriate. Although with Granger working her way up the Ministry, that practice was sure to soon fall out of favor.

Draco looked listlessly up at Ron Weasley when he entered his barren cubicle and took a seat without being invited. "Malfoy."

"Weasley," drawled Draco.

"My brother Charlie would like you to do some investigating in Romania for him. One of his dragons was eviscerated, heart removed, internal organs"

"Fascinating. I don't care."

Ron balked at being interrupted, "They're probably being used for dark magic."

"So let a Romanian Auror deal with it. Or some... animal... person. Or- why are you here asking _me _anyway? I don't take orders from _you, _" Draco began to rant, twirling his mug of tea on the desk absently.

Cutting in, Ron explained, "Because the Romanian government isn't taking it seriously and Charlie's afraid that more dragons will die. Hermione thinks it's very important, but the Ministry won't listen to her, just like they wouldn't listen to Harry when we were at Hogwarts in fifth year." Ron's eyes widened as he spoke as he watched Draco steel over.

"Oh, how very _Slytherin _of you. Invoke the name of 'Harry Potter' to get what you want from me. Utter his name and some platitude for justice and I'm going to fall to pieces, is that it? I'm that pathetic now, am I? So easy to manipulate, so easy to lead around once you've invoked the Golden Boy's name? Fuck you. Fuck your little Mudblood wife and your ten thousand babies" he hissed, barely restraining the urge to throw the mug of tea at Ron's head.

Ron's face lit up with rage. There were some things that clearly would never change. Clenching his teeth and leaning aggressively towards Malfoy, he growled, "Yes, actually. Hermione had rather hoped that your loyalty to Harry would help you see that perhaps the Ministry was being a bit short sighted on this issue. I thought you'd be the nasty git you're acting, of course."

Draco winced, not because he was afraid of Ron in particular, but Harry was stabbing at him. His hand moved over the flat plane of his stomach and he jabbed back, hard. "I'm not doing that sodding Mud—ow _Muggleborn's _bidding" Draco argued, more with the bucking stag on his stomach than really with Ron.

The redhead looked down at Draco's hand with a bit of longing. "May I see him?" he asked.

Snorting at the straight man staring so rapturously at his pants, Draco gave a haughty laugh. "You wish."

"Not THAT, I meant—"

"I know what you meant, and no. He's mine."

"He was my friend, too" argued Ron.

Friend? Harry was his _friend_? That was enough to make Draco bristle. "He wasn't just my FRIEND, he was my... my..." Draco huffed. Lover didn't cut it. It sounded tawdry, like Harry hadn't changed him utterly. Like all they did were those nasty things that Muggle Christians were all so afraid of happening in their back yard. Draco never had the privilege of calling Harry a spouse, or a husband. Even if there had been time there were no provisions for Wizard same sex marriage. "Soul mate."

"You know Harry never wanted _this _for you" Ron said, gesturing, trying a nicer tactic. It was hard. Malfoy was such a defensive asshole and Ron had never liked him. "And not that we're trying to set you up or anything, but we also thought it would be good to send _you _in particular since Charlie's"

Draco picked up the mug and looked for all the world like he was going to beat Ron about the face and neck with it, but then with a decisive thunk, he dropped it back onto the desk. "Don't set me up with your lot. I don't need hand-me-downs, particularly not a black sheep of the _Weasley _clan."

"He's not a black sheep! We're all proud of him and his _choice_," protested Ron.

_Choice, indeed_. As if you'd opt for that kind of derision and a world full of people who didn't understand _or care to_. Draco waved him off and stared at his calendar that was, as always, empty. He'd been distinctly ignoring the fervent and persistent prodding of his dead lover's mark into his belly, but it was clear Harry wanted him to do this. Who knew, perhaps Harry could see something dark going on that no one else saw from this vantage point. Besides, it wasn't as if he had anything better to do.

"Fine. You're proud, he's proud, we're all so very _proud_. I'll take him a rainbow flag for you," Draco spat, rubbing his tender side as the stabbing stopped.

"So you're going?" asked Ron, standing up as if he were going to make a break for it before Draco changed his mind, which was probably wise.

"Yes. I'm going. When do I need to be ready?"

"Can you be packed and ready tonight?" asked Ron hopefully.

Draco flipped his scheduler to the next day. Entirely blank. _How pathetic_. "I'll try to move some things around."

"Great, Hermione will get the time and the information to your superiors, she's already been talking to them so you should be all squared away," he said and then dared to reach out to pat Draco's shoulder. The aristocrat recoiled and gave him a disgusted sneer in return. "I owe you one."

"Oh really?" asked Draco leering up at Ron.

Ron didn't care for those grey eyes on him, knowing they were calculating what he could get out of him. "I'm straight!" he squealed girlishly.

Draco looked highly affronted, but only replied with, "_Ew_." After a hard look, he carried on, "If you really want to do something for me, take me off of your Christmas mailing list. If I have to endure another piece of mail from you lot with your bad hair and freckled progeny, I'll pluck my eyes out. So be a good boy and we'll be even."

That was Malfoy for you. One moment of goodwill and already Ron wanted to throttle him again, turning his kind gesture into something venomous. "Done," Ron grumbled, reasoning that telling Malfoy off, in spite of the fact that the git deserved it, wouldn't further what he needed done. He'd promised his wife.

"Good then. I shall be back here by seven with my things. How long will I be gone?"

"A week at least. We'll have the port key to Charlie's house set up when you get back. Good day," said Ron tersely as he practically ran to get away before he lost his temper with Malfoy.

"Great. Romania with a faggy Weasley. How much more must I endure?" Draco asked no one in particular.


	2. Chapter 2

"So Ron tells me that Harry intended for you to move on and you haven't? That you were supposed to have a wife and kids by now," said Charlie, eyeing his new arrival who was wolfing down his home made spaghetti. Clearly it was a wise choice to make Malfoy a home-cooked meal. It actually shut down the snarking that had started from the moment he'd ported in.

Great. Had everyone been duly informed of _The Boy Who Lived's Plan for Draco Malfoy's Life Post-Harry_? Probably not. Harry probably just told Ron and Hermione, but that was obviously more than enough to land him in this uncomfortable situation with a Weasley leering at him like a veal cutlet. Living in Romania amongst dragons must've gotten lonely.

"Yes well Harry, like my father, seemed to have rather lofty notions about my sexuality. As if one day I was going to snap into thinking that girls were keen and that I wanted some sticky mass of fish bits to deal with in bed," Malfoy said as he shoved the food away.

"Charming," was all Charlie could come up with to say to that for a moment as the evocative visual turned his stomach. "Visceral too. You have a way with words. Perhaps you should write."

"Not even _I_ care what I have to say. I refuse to subject other people to my odes to the dank deep darkness that is my soul," he quipped. Nearly every teenager had a dark angst poetry past. Even Wizards.

Charlie snorted and set the dish into the sink, he'd magic it clean later when there were more. No real point it flashing his wand around. "Maybe not _that_. Perhaps a story about your life? Memoirs. I bet people would be interested in what it's like to be you."

"They'd be interested in Harry and that's all. I don't blame them. I'm not terribly interesting on my own," said Draco, believing it more than he wanted to.

"I think you're interesting," admitted Charlie as he sat back down.

"You would. You're a lack-wit. Come to think of it, most people are lack-wits. Perhaps they would enjoy reading my memoirs. Call Ron and Hermione and tell them I've quit. I'm going to be a _writer,_" exclaimed Draco with caustic glee as he pushed back up from the table in obvious irritation at Charlie's compliment.

"Well, now we know why you're still single. Sit down and take a compliment," said Charlie in an attempt to smooth things over. While he liked Malfoy well enough, and perhaps he was being a bit flirty, he didn't think what he'd said was that egregious. He gestured to the chair in front of the round table.

"I'd rather not. I'm tired. Show me to my room," insisted Malfoy. Whatever Charlie thought he was doing, Draco was not impressed. He was extremely uncomfortable now and he wanted out of the situation.

Charlie laughed, "There's only one bed."

"Show me to my sofa, then," insisted Draco. His hand moved to his mark, not because it was fussing at him, but because the whole situation was sending him into a mild panic.

"I'll take the sofa, you take the bed," said Charlie in resignation. It wasn't as if he were going to jump Malfoy. "You know, I've shared beds with my brothers for most of my life. I know how to keep to my own side."

"Sharing a bed with those tossers is probably why you're a fag. In any case, I do not want to hear any incest-riddled bedtime stories. Show me to my room," snapped Draco.

It was tempting to point out that Draco likely had an entire wing of the Manor to himself and was also a homosexual, but frankly, he was pretty sure Malfoy would have an retort for that as well. It would only open the situation up for more verbal sparring, which Charlie just didn't do. Charlie nodded to Draco and stood to lead the way to his room. "As you wish."

* * *

Draco spent most of the night awake. It wasn't only that he was unsettled by the unwanted attention from Charlie, although that was vexing him. Mostly he was attempting to research the main uses of dragon viscera in old magic. Using the Wizarnet he downloaded data by way of his wand into a pane of information to disseminate. Murmuring further incantations, he started to cross reference the information he had about the cannibalistic Romanian Longhorn with any known obscurities of spells or potions that would demand this particular dragon be slain. He further indexed information to find if there was any special magic involving the age of the dragon, as it was a smaller one, culled purposely and cunningly from its mother. There didn't appear to be. 

The age of the dragon related to its size and ability to defend itself and that, Draco surmised, meant that it was likely a person acting alone who wanted to take the least amount of risk with slaying a dragon. The person would have to be at least somewhat brave to take on a dragon alone, but not so foolhardy as to attack one of the adults. He did note that the horns had been sawed off and that the body was reportedly exsanguinated. This would normally point to poachers, except that according to Charlie, the valuable skin was left more or less in tact.

Pointedly ignoring another of Charlie's books"Men Who Love Dragons Too Much" Draco gave a quiet "Finite Incantatem" followed by an even quieter "Nox" and slipped under the covers of Charlie's bed. Perhaps it was just poachers, Draco hoped so. It would be far less sinister to capture some desperate renegade gamers than to take down a dark witch or wizard. Still, he had a nagging feeling, as if there were something that hadn't sat well with him at the time that had been shoved back to the quiet recesses of his brain after he dealt with Harry's death. Something on the tip of his brain and yet...

_Green eyes resolved to glinting frames and that cocksure smile. "You were supposed to move on."_

_"I am."_

_"Right. Look at you, an attractive red head trying to get into your bed and you don't even have the decency to flirt back."_

_"He's a Weasley, Harry. He's..."_

_"A blood-traitor? So were you. He's even a pure blood."_

_"Not you."_

_Harry sighed and wrapped his arms around Draco. "I'm not coming back. I can't."_

_"You won't," said Draco, sulking at him even as his hands roamed over the still-boyish body of his lost love._

_"Draco..."_

_"I have your mark. It's a manifestation of you. I can get blood and bone and..."_

_"You saw how He came back. I wouldn't be the same. I'm waiting for you here" said Harry. Concern sparkled in his green eyes. God how green they were, Draco had almost forgotten._

_"Then I'll jump from one of these cliffs," vowed Draco._

_"No. No you will not. I won't have you if you do something stupid like that. Live, Draco. Live for me. Move on. I'll always be with you, guarding you. I want you to be happy, I love you" he said sincerely, trying to penetrate that thick Malfoy skull. Draco was so stubborn. Harry had almost forgotten._

_"I love you. And I am moving on." said Draco, frowning at Harry's shaking head. "I will. Wizards live over a hundred years. I have plenty of time." Draco knew in his heart he never would. Not really._

_His heart... _

_His heart was removed. Along with everything else inside of him. Gutted. Raw. Eviscerated. Charlie was standing over Draco's body. He peered around in shock. Freckled hand dipped down, down, down inside of Draco's body, and was pulled up dabbed with blood. _

_"You have no heart. It's been removed," Charlie said to Draco._

_Draco wanted to tell Charlie that even in his dreams he was an insipid idiot. That hearts were metaphorical and that he certainly had a literal heart or he wouldn't be alive. Which he wished he weren't, because if he weren't he wouldn't be laying here with some dullard's hand in his entrails, but likely on a fluffy cloud taunting Potter testing Cherub ass. Although being dead- dream-dead anyway- made it impossible for him to say anything at all. _

_Just then, something moved just inside Draco's peripheral vision and his quicksilver eyes fixed on a rat. Rat. An odd, podgy limping rat was scampering away beyond notice._

"Pettigrew!"

* * *

The name was still on his lips and lodged into his psyche from the moment he awoke. Peter Pettigrew. That was it. Whether that had anything to do with this situation, he wasn't entirely sure. The dream seemed to indicate such, and Draco did, on occasion, have the sort of dreams that put together disparate pieces of a puzzle. He was just pulling himself groggily out of bed when the dripping wet form of Charlie in a towel greeted him. 

"Oh good, you're up. You were moaning in your sleep. I thought I heard my name," he said, putting on his most charming smile. Draco was a bit of a puzzle to Charlie. The second eldest Weasley had never had a problem charming anyone, man or beast. Sure, he was stockier than his brothers and had a few patches of burn scars; he wasn't gorgeous. However, he was still considered attractive enough by most. Those who weren't overly impressed with his looks were always charmed by his easygoing manner. He had a keen sense of humor, although he was likely too kind-hearted to really banter with Malfoy.

"Yes, I was telling you to put on some clothes before I woke up. I thought to save myself the nausea of seeing you...wet," he grumbled at the man in the towel who appeared suddenly self-conscious. Draco stopped for a moment, looking at Charlie's tanned torso almost curiously. He'd forgotten that Charlie had once been a Gryffindor Seeker. His lithe body held the basic shape, if not the skin of his lover. _His dead lover_. Draco shook his head free from his thoughts. "I'm having a shower. You'd best not have used all of the hot water."

Charlie's brows rose as he watched those frosty eyes scanning over his body critically. He smirked a bit as Malfoy stretched cat-like under the covers then stumbled out of his bed towards the bathroom. He watched the younger man until the door slammed closed. Interesting. Malfoy had definitely checked him out. Challenges had always intrigued Charlie; all of the truly feral dragons had become his sole domain. They'd started to call him "The Dragon Tamer" around the preserve. Draco Malfoy was definitely a challenge. As big an asshole as the man was, Charlie found him oddly amusing. He had to admit, he liked the arrogant prat.

* * *

Being able to walk out of the shower, into clothes and out onto the grounds of the reservation with nothing to stop for but to grab a hot mug of tea definitely made Charlie's coarse sheets worth bearing, Draco decided as he squinted out into the bright day. 

"Draco! Merlin! _Wait_!" called out Charlie as he struggled to smooth out the t-shirt he'd hastily yanked on to chase after the Auror who was headed obliviously out towards the dragons.

"What?" he asked as he stopped and glared back at Charlie. He brought the mug to his lips and took another sip. "Wearing Muggle clothes backwards doesn't improve them, you know" he spat as he stared derisively at the inside out t-shirt. "And do feel free to call me Malfoy."

A lesser man would've told Malfoy to go on out there without knowing about the burn lines. He probably should've let Malfoy's perfect skin sizzle under a dragon's fire, but no. Charlie wasn't like that. Although Draco's haughty glare made it tempting. Charlie pointed at the ground, explaining that the white marks were the severe burn flame marks and the purple indicated where the range of the flame would still be painful, but wouldn't cause any permanent damage.

Draco's eyes widened and he paled, "There are _dragons_ roaming about?"

"Malfoy, it is a _dragon_ reserve. A _dragon_ was slain here..." Charlie said in a measured cadence as if speaking to a slow child.

Visibly shaken, Draco's eyes went wild and he hunched down and glared up at the sky as his hand moved into his robe pocket for his wand.

"They're magically bound behind this portal, Malfoy," said Charlie as he indicated the tall almost Stonehenge-appearing grey pillars of stone that appeared every few meters with runic carvings that kept the dragons at least somewhat contained to their side of the wall. "They're not just going to fly up and eat you. This is just the area where we observe them. See?" He reached out and pulled Draco's sleeve to position him to peer between the large rocks at the small family of territorial Romanian Longhorns that were kept in this particular space through wizard space, similar to the sort that his father had used for their tent at the Quidditch World Cup.

For a moment, Draco just stared, mesmerized at the beauty of the flying dragons and the high bluffs. He could run through, brush past the dragons and the desiccated carcasses of the cows and horses out to the ledge and jump. Fly through the air for a few moments before his bones shattered at the end of a dramatic fall. The nagging press of Harry's antlers disrupted his morbid train of thought.

"I see, so... this is warded? Only you and the other handlers know how to get in or out?" he asked as he stepped back again, moving as far away from the burn zone as he could, only to step into another behind him. Charlie deftly reached behind Malfoy and scooted him forward by his lower back.

"Watch your step. It's complicated out here," he warned Draco, giving his waist a reassuring little squeeze.

Artfully, Draco stepped out of the light embrace, putting as much distance between himself and Charlie as he had the burn zone. Charlie recoiled as he would from a frightened animal and explained, "I was just trying to get you out of danger."

"You can warn me of peril verbally, there is no need to _touch_ me. Honestly. I can't seem to keep you away from me. Is Romania that lonely, Weasley?" he spat as he brushed off his robes, as if the simple act of touch had sullied them.

"Actually, Malfoy, it is not. I pull easily here," defended Charlie.

"Yes, well, Romanians clearly have no taste, ow!" he shrieked as he squeezed back at the stag who stabbed him for that remark.

Charlie smirked figuring that had to be a jab from Harry's mark. Ron had mentioned it before he sent Draco to Romania. "You were _really_ Harry's lover?"

"What gave that away? _The Daily Prophet's_ clever 'Boy Who Was Gay' supplement? Or was it _The Quibbler's_ curious and frightening speculation that one of us was pregnant with some magical ass-baby?" snapped Draco as his hand fell back down to his side.

"Harry put up with _this_?" asked Charlie as his hand waved in an indication of Malfoy's caustic manner.

Draco didn't have an answer for that. No. Harry wouldn't have put up with his attitude. In fact, he wasn't containing his irritation with Draco's behavior very well right now as the pointy antlers stabbed into his abdomen a few more times. The Auror's jaw set and his muscles flexed a few times. "Where's the body?"

The dragon handler looked remorseful for the jibe, but at least it slowed Draco's vitriol down. "We had to move it, the other dragons would've eaten it. I can show you the site if you wish," Charlie offered.

Looking at the burn zone and then at the way that Charlie appeared tanned except for the fine lines where the scars met, Draco decided that he could put thoroughness on the shelf for the moment. His grasp on living was tenuous at best; he didn't need to add disfigurement to his list of reasons why he didn't care to go on. "I don't know that it's necessary. I want to determine how the exsanguination and dissection took place, if more information is needed, I will want to see where you found the body."

"Right then, this way," Charlie said as he gestured to Draco to head to the main building across the campus of strange rock formations that walled the dragons into their territories. Each one had the name of the dragons etched in stone along the top. The reservation was truly astounding, and the work that Charlie did took incredible courage. Courage Harry had that Draco never did or would. He looked at the back of the other man's bright red head that glimmered even brighter in the morning sunlight. Absently, Draco wondered if he'd dye it black.

The harsh rays of light gave way to the softer tones of being inside, and it took Draco's eyes a moment to adjust to his new surroundings. He followed Charlie wordlessly down halls and stairs until they were in an antiseptic room. All around were presumably dragon parts floating in vials large and small. Several posters tacked to the walls indicated each and every part of a dragon. Know thy beast from the inside out. Draco sighed and looked at the young, but still large monster stretched out on a shiny metal table.

The animal's scales, once regal, were dulled, some blood stained, many crumpled and singed. "Conventional magic doesn't work on magical beasts," pointed out Draco to Charlie's nod of approval.

"There was no one potion or spell that required all of the missing organs. However, put together they would make an already dark and wizened wizard or witch even stronger," observed Draco as he pulled his wand. He took in a deep breath and then continued with his theorizing. "I have a hunch that Pettigrew isn't as dead as he would seem. Further, I think he's amassed significant power to have accomplished this," he revealed as he gestured towards the dead youthful Romanian Longhorn.

"But they found his body—"

"They found a _rat body_. A rat body in London, I ask you, how hard is that?" asked Draco as he slid his fingers nervously over his wand. He was going to have to use a priori incantation on the dragon to see what was used to kill and open it. Knowing what spells were used would assist in knowing what manner of wizard he was dealing with. Poachers used very simple spells and charms to subdue an animal enough to slaughter it by hand. Anyone else would, well... he'd find out.

"Sure, but it was the right breed of rat and had a silver hand," Charlie pointed out.

"That's not a big trick for a proper wizard, one as wily as Pettigrew was would have accomplished it easily," observed Draco. "This may go poorly. You might want to go into another room."

"Poorly how?" asked Charlie as he looked over Draco's too-thin frame and shaky hand. How much could the other man really take? Something about Draco screamed "save me" and strangely Charlie felt the need to respond to it.

"Well," responded Draco with a tight, nervous and ironic laugh. "At least you'll know I always wanted death."

"Oh," said Charlie as he looked at the slaughtered adolescent dragon and then at Draco. "Wait, _what?_"

"If it's a truly powerful dark wizard, and he doesn't want to be found... he could put trapdoor curses-"

"Then don't do it. It doesn't matter _that much_. It's not worth your life. You can report it as suspicious and have more Aurors come out," said Charlie as he stepped forward with his arm out to take the wand from Draco from across the table. The man appeared clearly willing, if not determined, to endanger himself now.

"My life has almost always been overrated," stated Draco through his teeth, irritated with Charlie's concern. He should call others in. There was enough evidence lend his hunch plausibility. It might take a few days, but they'd send someone. However, Draco didn't want to be stuck here for a few days. This spell was risky and he knew that. Maybe that's why he wanted to do it. Harry couldn't claim a death resulting from this spell cast in the line of duty as suicide, really. Backing away from Charlie's outstretched hand, he swished his wand and belted out his incantation. Part of him hoped and prayed that it would backfire that dramatically.

"Draco! Don't!" shouted Charlie as he tried to dive across the table to stop the perilous hex.

A flash of green, and Draco's world went dark.


	3. Chapter 3

Draco wasn't at all happy to wake up. It was Pettigrew, sure enough. The man wasn't as brilliant a wizard as a true dark lord. The feedback had certainly shocked Draco into a stunned unconsciousness for a week, but it hadn't killed him. Worse yet for Pettigrew, it left a signature that was like a magical fingerprint only even more undeniable, because it left the wizard easily identified by an Auror.

The trapdoor that Pettigrew had set up in his spells had been intended to kill whoever sought to identify him. The last thing Draco remembered was being surrounded in green light, and now he awoke. It was dark. He was warm, too warm. He could feel weight against him and he heard breathing. He blinked a few times, looking around the rather cluttered room, shelves of books, clothes here and there, children's paintings. He was in Charlie's room. He looked down at the arms that were locked securely around him. Arms freckled so densely that he looked tanned. The skin was rough and mottled with bright pink new growth in places. Charlie.

Immediately Draco started to struggle out of the arms, not at all appreciating the forced intimacy between himself and the other man. The movement woke Charlie, of course. "Draco!" he exclaimed.

"Why aren't I in a proper hospital?" he asked as he squirmed from Charlie's forceful embrace that was growing tighter.

"You were, for a few days. They said all you needed was rest now, that there was nothing magically or physically wrong with you but simple shock when I brought you here," answered Charlie who patiently worked to turn Draco around. "It was good I'd stayed in that room with you."

"Good for whom?" asked Draco disdainfully as he was slowly rag dolled around to face the redhead. He glared into the other man's brown eyes. Draco was shocked to see them bloodshot and his face puffy from sobbing. Placing both hands on Charlie's chest, he pushed back against the other man like a cat resisting affection. Draco's head turned to the side to avoid Charlie at all costs.

Reluctantly, Charlie released the smaller man and let him scoot to his side of the bed. "Good for you. So I could get you out of there, to some healers. You would've died if it weren't for—"

"Oh no. No. NO!" started Draco, going wild as he pushed himself out of the bed. He wrapped his arms around himself at his realization that he was standing there naked in front of Charlie. Even in the dark he felt exposed and it didn't occur to him that likely Charlie had tended to him like this and seen everything anyway. Weasley had saved his life? He owed Charlie now? No. This wasn't happening. Wasn't it bad enough to live? Now he was in debt to this man?

"If it weren't for Harry."

"What?"

Charlie pointed at Draco's hip as he turned to light a candle so Draco could see his mark.

Trembling, Draco moved closer to the flame and peered down at the stag. It was awake, but moving almost sluggishly. It looked up at Draco, looking as drained as the Auror himself felt. On its forehead now was a lightning bolt shaped scar.

Slowly, the fallen aristocrat's finger moved down to caress his mark. His Harry. His Harry saved him. Even from beyond, Harry rescued him. Harry. His Harry. His lover whom he would never see again in this life. Draco let out a loud cry of sheer anguish at not being able to hold him, to coo to him, to thank him. Although what he'd be thanking him for was dubious.

"Why?" was all he could breathlessly ask the mark. "Why?" His fingers stroked over the stag's nervous flanks. "I need you. Please, Harry. Please." he begged as he sat back down on the bed, stroking all he had left of his lover. "Why won't you let me come to you?"

The stag stabbed its antlers at Draco's fingers and then nudged its snout towards Charlie, who was watching this interaction with an awed fascination.

"I... I can't," whimpered Draco. The antlers again pricked at his fingers and the stag turned its face more meaningfully in the direction of Weasley. "I can't."

"Draco..." but what could Charlie really say in the face of such rejection? It stung. He'd spent the past few days caring for this man, cleaning him and watching over him. Not that he knew. How could he know? Really, even if he did know, Charlie was no Harry Potter. He hadn't saved the world; he wasn't going to save the world. He hadn't really even saved Draco's life, especially not from beyond death. He was just an ordinary man. Much like Draco himself.

For the briefest of moments, the clouds of Draco's rejection cleared and he felt that pain. The immense pains of being so close to someone like Harry, loving them so desperately only to lose them. He understood. Charlie understood why Draco couldn't let go. Tired angel. Saved again by the one person he couldn't have. "Come here, Draco. Come to bed," said Charlie, sliding his hand over the spot where Draco had lain.

"I'm tired," he said to Charlie. His eyes were lost and vague as he looked at the redhead. His eyes were filled with longing and sadness. Worse yet, the grey was shot through with acquiescence.

Charlie pulled the smaller, almost catatonic man to him and slid the covers up over his nudity. He wrapped his arms around Draco and this time he didn't quail. He lay there limply, allowing Charlie to cling to him. Slowly, Draco Malfoy closed his eyes.

* * *

The next morning, Draco allowed Charlie to make love to him. It was perfunctory and brief. Draco watched the patterns on the ceiling flicker and change as the man grunted and moved into him. It was fine. It didn't matter.

At breakfast, Charlie informed him that Tonks and Shacklebolt had apprehended Pettigrew the day before. Draco tried to pretend he cared, but failed miserably.

That night, Charlie took Draco to a fine restaurant and plied him with wine and the best in Romany cooking. Draco ate and drank politely, and when Charlie asked him to move in with him, he agreed.

* * *

"Draco?" asked Charlie. It was early. Four a.m. and Draco was in bed, but clearly not sleeping. Not that it mattered. He'd quit being an Auror to move to Romania. He had the money to do what he wanted. The problem had always been that Draco didn't want anything. So now he was unemployed. He took up writing; predictably, the book about his life with Harry was a best seller in spite of the fact that Draco never gave interviews.

"Draco?" Charlie asked again. He knew the man was awake because the bed wasn't that big and shook violently with every movement.

"What?" the weary man answered.

Charlie could hear the skin on skin contact of Draco sliding his fingers over the mark. Petting Harry, preening him, lavishing affection that Charlie wanted for himself on someone who wasn't even alive. It broke his heart every day, and yet he couldn't let go. Something about Draco's emptiness Charlie felt driven to fill. He loved Draco's desperate grace and he longed to be loved back by him, even if it would be only a fraction of what the blond felt for Harry. Charlie was determined that someday; someday Draco would return his feelings. "Why didn't you go to Harry's funeral?"

"I didn't want to," answered Draco as he rolled over onto his back.

"Too many people?" asked Charlie as he rolled to his side to face his lover. Tenderly he pulled the blonde locks from Draco's face.

"No. I've never been to his grave," said Draco, who lay still to allow the affections upon him. He neither avoided nor encouraged Charlie's constant need to touch him.

"Why not?" asked Charlie as he leaned down and kissed Draco's shoulder.

"Because that would mean that he's really gone," answered Draco flatly.

"But he is," said Charlie as he frowned and wiggled closer to Draco. He draped his arm over the pale man's abdomen and Draco moved it up so that Charlie's arm wouldn't be so close to Harry's manifestation.

"I know," Draco stated. He always sounded so tired now. As if every breath, each movement took every bit of energy he could muster. He was stuck. Waiting to die. His life was going through the motions.

"I love you," whispered Charlie against Draco's neck as he cuddled in harder, pressing his length against his lover's thigh.

"I know," said Draco as he closed his eyes and relaxed against the bed. As Charlie climbed atop him, Draco sighed inwardly and thought of green eyes. Untidy hair. Glinting glasses. Cocksure smile. Harry.

* * *

The Burrow was full of the usual fairy lights and other assorted Christmas decorations. The grandkids were running wild through people's legs and over chairs, shrieking and giggling as Molly fussed over the stove. Ron beamed as he stood next to Hermione holding their latest bundle of joy. Being the Minister of Magic clearly hadn't slowed the breeding down.

Moving away from her, Ron headed over to the eggnog and pulled Charlie aside with him. He looked at the fire where Draco was smirking at Missy, his 6 year old who was showing off her latest piece of art. "Well, he's... smiling. What's it been 100, 200 years together and finally he cracks a smile?" teased Ron.

"Eight years, Ron. We've been together for eight years. You've seen him smile before," he said as he playfully punched Ron's shoulder.

"I'm still not used to the hair," admitted Ron as he looked at Charlie's now black hair and green eyes with concern. At least his brother had held firm on not wearing the glasses. Even so, the whole thing just seemed creepy to Ron.

"Really? I like it. Sets me apart, makes me look more striking, don't you think?" he asked as he ruffled his hand through it.

Same way Harry did, mused Ron. Draco must have taught him that too. "Well, whatever makes you happy, Charlie. It's just good to see you two in love."

Charlie's face sobered and he paled and looked down into his eggnog. After a moment, he slugged it down and ladled himself another glass full.

"I'm sorry, did I say something wrong? You don't love him? Is he cheating on you?" asked Ron.

Charlie couldn't help but snort. Cheating? You could call it that. His glamoured green eyes moved slowly to Draco, whose hand had moved down to that familiar spot on his hip, fingering it idly. He overheard Draco ask Missy, "Can you draw me a stag? Those are really bold and brave!"

"No. He's not cheating on me. He just doesn't love me," said Charlie evenly.

"Charlie... he'll get past this," said Ron none-too-convincingly.

"He doesn't love me, and he never will," summed up Charlie. Then he gave Ron the cheeriest smile he could muster and punched him again in the arm. "Come on, better get back," he said as he glided over to the couch. Charlie slid in next to Draco and slipped his arm around the blond. Draco leaned back against the redhead and rewarded him with a quick pat on his hand.

"Love you," Charlie said.

"Happy Christmas," answered Draco.


End file.
